


bellamy blake, vigilante extraordinaire

by flirtingwithtrackers



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, doctor!clarke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-04-11 19:56:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4450181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flirtingwithtrackers/pseuds/flirtingwithtrackers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>bellamy runs around the city getting hurt and clarke's the one to patch him up</p>
<p>“'Are you going to make a habit of this? Because I’m going to have to keep a better supply of gauze on hand.' He grunts as she tightens the suture she’s working on."</p>
<p>or, the one with superhero!bellamy + doctor!clarke</p>
            </blockquote>





	bellamy blake, vigilante extraordinaire

**Author's Note:**

> loosely based off of: "SUPERHERO BELLAMY THINKS HE'S THE ABSOLUTE SHIT but then a civilian reporter (clarke ofc) saves his sorry ass in a firefight and stitches him up after and they keep on doing this - he shows up at her place bloodied frequently after that, and okay, so maybe he really needs a sidekick" for the lovely [hailreyes](http://hailreyes.tumblr.com) :))
> 
> warning: i know nothing about superheroes, so i apologize profusely in advance....

She finds him bloodied in an alley, clutching his ribs and struggling to breath. She just got off of a shift at the hospital, but it looks like she has one last patient. He’s still conscious but losing coherence quickly. She knows she shouldn’t move him until she can fully assess his injuries, but he also can’t be found a few blocks from a burning building dressed as Blackbird.

“Hey,” she says softly, a hand on his jaw to make him look up at her. “I need to get you out of here, okay?” He groans when she tries to get a look at the gash across his ribcage. She prods the bones as gently as she can. Nothing seems to be broken so she hopes for the best, hooking an arm under his to get him to his feet.

He’s just as heavy as he looks, though he is trying to help. He grits his teeth, breath shaky and labored, as Clarke walks him as quickly as she can to her apartment building. She curses under her breath when she remembers the three flights of stairs they’ll have to make it up, but she’s sure he wouldn’t appreciate her bringing him to a hospital. They make it up and Clarke is thankful he hasn’t passed out yet.

She drops him onto her couch, telling him to stay put as though he didn’t need her help to get around. She finds her first aid kit in the bathroom, quickly searching for a needle and suture thread. Clarke kneels beside the couch, leaning over him as she tries to remove his top. He groans but arches up off the cushions to assist.

He makes it all the way through his stitches, teeth clenched and eyes squeezed shut. He tries to get up once she’s put a bandage over the wound, but she pushes him back down.

“You need to rest. You can leave in a few hours if you want.” She pleads, hoping he’ll stay. Her fingers itch to grab her computer, write up a little article—for lack of a better word—for her blog. Clarke has been keeping tabs on him, blogging about Blackbird as he runs around the city trying to get himself killed. But when he sighs in defeat, slumping into her couch, she can’t find it in her. He’s just a man, if the blood soaking into her couch cushions is any indication—a man who tries to do what he can for his city, even if he’s not that good at it. She grabs him a glass of water, watching as he downs it.

Now that the wound is taken care of to the best of her abilities, she searches for any other injuries, eyes scanning in concern. Even though he probably came stumbling out of a burning building, he only has minor burns on his arms. She quickly cleans and dresses the burns, only noticing that he’s fallen asleep when he doesn’t react.

There’s blood dripping down the side of his face. Her curiosity has been nagging at her since she found Blackbird down for the count, with him so close, accessible, _vulnerable_. She hates the way she perks up instantly at the prospect of having a reason to take off his mask, to see who Blackbird really is. Her teeth dig into her bottom lip almost painfully as she fights with her conscious, her hands already poised over his mask.

He wakes calmly, looking up at her with big brown eyes. He just stares at her, doesn’t stop her, doesn’t move away. Clarke sighs as she drops her hands. 

“You’re bleeding,” she says, gesturing to his temple. He brings up a hand that comes away red. He leaves the mask on, but pulls away the hood, dark brown curls springing free. With hesitant hands, Clarke brushes the matted curls off his forehead, finding a cut at his hairline. She smiles in relief. “It’s minor, I’ll just clean it up.”

He watches silently, eyes assessing, as she cleans the wound. She goes further, wiping away the blood covering the skin around his mask. Clarke finally stands, unable to do any more. She thinks about telling him to come back in a week to have the stitches removed, but she knows he won’t be back. He’ll find someone to take care of it. She doesn’t say anything as she walks back to her bedroom, only stopping at the hallway to get one last look.

He’s gone before sunrise.

+++ 

The next time she sees Blackbird close up, he’s bleeding _again_ , but he came to her. Most of the blood on his face and chest are not his, but there’s a trail of blood running steadily down his leg from a large gash in his thigh. He’s leaning up against the sliding glass window of her balcony, tapping on the glass lightly.

“Oh my god.” She quickly unlocks the door, sliding it open. “Get inside.”

He limps over to her couch. “You’re gonna have to cut them open,” he says. It’s the first time she’s heard him talk. His voice is deep and rumbles in his chest. It’s also laced with pain.

She grabs her kit, quickly getting to work. “Are you going to make a habit of this? Because I’m going to have to keep a better supply of gauze on hand.” He grunts as she tightens the suture she’s working on.

“I’m sorry, I was nearby,” is all he says.

“If I would have known Blackbird was coming back to bleed on my couch again, I wouldn’t have bothered trying to get out the stains in the first place,” she huffs. “Or do you prefer The Black Bat?” He’s never declared his name so the newspapers have been coming up with some of their own. Most settled for The Black Bat, but many online media sources have stuck with Blackbird—Clarke’s little blog excursions included. 

“I fucking _hate_ that name. _The Black Bat_ ,” he says it with disgust. “I sound like a cheap rip-off of Batman, for fuck’s sake.” He grumbles under his breath, “We can’t all be fucking millionaires.” 

“Well maybe if your costume wasn’t so terrible, they would have picked a better name.” She stops her work to tug at the leathery material webbed between his torso and arms. “I mean you essentially have wings even though you _can’t_ fly.” She raises an eyebrow, as if asking if she’s correct. When he huffs and turns away she continues, “Those things can’t make running around rooftops any easier, either.”

He scoffs.

“What would you like to be called then?” she asks. 

He continues looking at the rug settled in the center of her living room. “Nox,” he finally says. She looks at him, eyebrows raised. “Like Nyx,” he explains. “The human personification of night.” He gestures at his all black costume. 

“Oh no, I got it.” She looks at him in amusement, her lips turning up into a smirk. “I still like Blackbird better.”

“Are you done?” He’s irritated and it infuriates her. She thinks she likes him better when he doesn’t talk. 

“You came to me, remember?” She continues stitching him up in silence. 

+++

The first time she sees Nox—okay, so she may have made a little post about his preferred name, and it may have went a _little_ viral—without his mask on, he’s bleeding out on her balcony. She almost doesn’t see him when she first enters her apartment, carding through her mail in the doorway. Clarke almost screams when she spots him, running over to the sliding glass door. He’s coughing violently as she tries to drag him over to the couch. She gives up halfway, leaving him on the rug by the door. Her hands shake as she applies pressure to a wound in his abdomen.

He’s already unconscious as she reaches for her phone, calling one of the few people she trusts. He is in bad shape and she knows she can’t do this herself. Nyko picks up quickly and Clarke is more than grateful that he wasn’t on shift tonight. She catches him up as fast as she can, hoping he’ll understand. Nyko is hesitant, adamant that she should call an ambulance.

“I can’t, at least not yet.”

Nyko sighs but agrees.

“Oh, and Nyko? Bring some clothes.” 

+ 

They get him out of his costume and into some of Nyko’s street clothes. They’re a little big, but they can’t just show up at the ER with Nox. Clarke _prays_ they haven’t wasted too much time, her heart dropping into her stomach as she listens to his heartbeat slow. Nyko carries him into the hospital, Clarke running ahead of him with the story of a brutal mugging. Nyko waits with her in the waiting room, a comforting hand on her knee. 

+ 

When he wakes up, Clarke is sitting by his bed, scribbling onto her notepad. He shifts, groaning a bit, and it gets her attention. She sits on the edge of her seat, setting aside her pad to grab the hand closest to her.

“You’re awake,” she says smiling.

“Bellamy Blake.” His voice is hoarse. Her eyebrows furrow and he repeats himself. “My name, it’s Bellamy Blake.” 

She nods. “Clarke Griffin,” she reciprocates, even though she has a feeling he already knew that.

“Well, Bellamy Blake, you owe me a new rug. _Especially_ after I got your new name on the map.” He doesn’t laugh because it hurts, but he smiles and Clarke counts it as a win. “Is there anyone I should call?” 

His sister is there within the hour and Clarke leaves with a final glance over her shoulder. 

+++ 

He shows up at her place as Bellamy Blake for the first time with flowers in his hand, using the front door this time. He’s wearing a tie and Clarke finds herself wondering what he does for a living when he’s not running around the city in a ridiculous black catsuit. 

His smile is a little timid as he holds out the bouquet. “Thank you. For everything.” 

“You’re welcome.” She takes the flowers and invites him in.

+ 

“You know, I could use a sidekick,” he says lightly.

“Partners or nothing, Blake.”

**Author's Note:**

> come cry with me on [tumblr](http://keywordlydia.tumblr.com) :))


End file.
